


Tears of the Martyr

by Hexes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood, Fix-It, Gore, Harry as a Martyr, Hogwarts ghosts - Freeform, Hurt Severus, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual-Pining, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Obsessive Behaviour, Powerful Harry, Shy Harry, Somewhat Epilogue Compliant, Stalking, Unreliable Narrator, Voyeurism, divorcee Harry, graphic descriptions of physical wounds, mentions of divorce, prefect's bathroom, snarry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 14:06:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16120046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexes/pseuds/Hexes
Summary: Seven years after the Final Battle Harry returns to Hogwarts for an anniversary celebration. Severus finds that he is obsessed with Harry.Given the rare opportunity to spy upon the other man, Severus follows him when he slips away for a bit of relaxation. Unfortunately for Severus, he finds himself caught in a flashback, and must relive an extremely traumatic episode.Seriously, y'all. There's some gross blood-and-death stuff herein, be kind to yourselvesUn-beta'd





	1. Chapter 1

    Harry sodding Potter had come back to give a speech at the welcoming feast, and Severus had expected it to be the exercise in patience to suffer through that it had turned out to be. Most things to do with Harry bloody Potter were trying. The boy was, after all, still strutting peacock, irrespective of his particular method of accidentally saving Severus’ life. The only saving grace - if it could be considered such - was that the youngest Weasley was not in attendance. Apparently, the Potter-Weasley marriage contract had been dissolved, and the two had separated on friendly terms. Severus supposed there might be some cosmic force for good, given that there was now little-to-no chance that he’d stumble upon the two of them snogging in a hallway or empty classroom. He glared into his nightcap.

    It had been seven years since the final battle, and the auspicious occasion apparently warranted particular attention that Severus wished they'd leave be. There were to be celebrations of life, mourning of losses. Dancing, and drinking, and back-slapping, and commiserating, and oh-god-why for hours on end while Severus tried desperately to control both his temper and his greedy eyes. Not that Harry James Potter was making the latter easy. Of course not. It was against his very nature to be anything other a thorn twisting in Severus’ side.

    Potter’s hair had grown, luscious black curls held back from his face with a simple leather thong. His face kept smooth of hair. His eyes glittering behind glass, though the frames were sleek, and black, the shape flattering his pointed chin and chiseled cheeks. His glowing copper skin encased in obnoxious muggle clothing - denims that clung to his hips and ass like a needy lover, a singlet sliding along his torso like hot wax dripping over his muscles, a button-up slung over his powerful shoulders, buttoned only from the bottom curve of his pectoral muscles downward. He looked infuriatingly like he’d stepped out of one of those Blue Magazines that Severus sometimes confiscated from students. Worse still, he looked absurdly alluring. Especially when he bit his lower lip, blushing, stammering a flimsy excuse, and rushed away from Severus whenever they happened by one another. His beguiling reticence seemed like a perfectly plausible excuse to follow him anywhere Severus could. Simply because he was no longer a student didn’t mean he couldn’t be up to something, after all. So when Potter slipped out through a tiny by-door, Severus had followed posthaste, Disillusioned himself and matched his steps to Harry’s, trailing behind him eagerly.

    He had to admit. He wasn’t expecting the young man’s target to be the Prefect’s bathroom, but he had certainly seen stranger things over the course of his tenure in the castle. He eyed the painting that obscured the door with some venom. It would take some finagling to get into the room without Potter noticing. He had to convince the mermaid in the portrait on the common wall with the bathroom that he had a very good reason for needing to go through the secret passage that she guarded that lead to the stained glass depiction of her dearly beloved cousin, but Severus was charming - and spoke Mermish. She had relented only when he had promised to have her cousin’s glass polished, and that he would see to it himself. He grinned to himself as she swung forward, allowing him to squeeze into the tiny passage that opened just at the base of the stained glass. He turned his eyes to feast upon the vision before him.

 

    Harry was in the bathtub, still short for his age, though he'd filled in considerably since his teenhood, his sable curls cascading over his shoulders. His coppery skin glowed burnished in the warm, flickering light of the room, one hand applied to ruthlessly working out an orgasm while the other supported him on the lip of the tub. His muscles roiled beneath his glistening skin, the barest hint of sweat beckoning to Severus’ tongue like a siren. Harry’s head fell back, his slender neck well defined in the glowing candlelight, his face ethereal. Severus crept along the wall, seeking a good spot to tuck himself into while the young man was otherwise engaged.

    Harry finished quickly, eyes screwed shut, his lips crushed viciously between his teeth, strangling down the sound of his pleasure - this obviously wasn't an exercise in pleasure, so much as tension relief - while his spend slipped down the drain with rather expert precision. He caught his breath, eyes scanning the room before he stoppered the tub, and turned a few taps to full blast.

    The huge, frothing bubbles smelled of cade, lavender, and a dash of creamy Arabian jasmine. Severus inhaled greedily, eyes hungry as he sat as still as humanly possible, Disillusioned in the smallest alcove of the Prefect’s bathroom, he watched as Potter washed his hair, then carded a smoothing potion through it meticulously, sighing from time to time as he worked out knots. _It’s maddening, honestly_ , Severus thought. The man before him was so captivating - both inside and out. Age had done his body well, and the light within him still shone, brilliant and cleansing, even after war and death. He was graceful on the ground, now, after years of being an Auror. Growing his hair had made him look more refined - seductive - than he ever had done previously. His eyes were still startlingly green, and his skin still gleamed, though both were imbued with the refinement of the last few years. Severus caught a sigh behind his teeth - his strange, unshakeable obsession with the younger man was hellish enough without the potential repercussions of being discovered. He settled more firmly into place, gorging himself on the visual banquet laid before him.

    Harry Potter, boy wonder, twice-saviour of the world as it is known. Severus shifted silently, jealous. He was so lovely even that ghosts flocked to him. First the Grey Lady, silent, though coy. Then Sir Nicholas, boisterous and jovial. Then Moaning Myrtle. Severus’ eyes narrowed. The young girl ghost swirling around Potter, trying to peek through bubbles between bouts of fluttering her translucent lashes, and giggling into her shoulder. She asked questions, teasing answers out word by agonized word, reveling in the young man’s blushing and stuttering. Myrtle stayed the longest, to Severus’ extreme displeasure. The young ghost obviously hoping to get an eye-full of the goods, now that Harry was fully grown and even more enticing than ever. The bubbles thinned as time wore on, and he tried to keep as many over his modesty as he could. She laughed, a breathy, thin thing, as she leaned over, suggesting that he simply give her the show she had come for. Harry had sputtered, his eyes downcast, wet with embarrassment.

    Wet with _tears_ , and the sight jerked Severus back in time, back to the Shrieking Shack. To Nagini’s bite, to his unlikely survival. Back to the time he had last seen Harry’s eyes wet, bright, and downcast.

    Severus vividly remembered how it happened, his body alight with sensations, not of the present, his mind wracked with memory.

    His neck had been pouring blood, memories trailing from his eyes and ears like a babbling brook, wispy and silver against his black robes, wet though they were, and glistening with blood. Harry had curled into his chest, his eyes streaming with regret and horror, the hot, salty fluid running over Severus’ jaw, sliding along his neck like fire running along volatile oil. It burnt like hellfire. It soothed like mother’s song.

    Martyr's tears. Of course.

    One of the rarest, most prized, and most powerful healing ingredients in existence. The agonizing euphoria of feeling that pure selflessness - the need to save, the need to sacrifice - scorching his ragged wound, burning out the venom: A holocaust of healing. He would have screamed if he could have, but the combination of gaping laceration in his throat, venom searing through his blood, and the churning bliss of misery scraping his throat raw and dry, rendered him mute. His body jerked, unable to process the cacophony of sensation zipping through every nerve ending in every micron of his being. The torture of the cure eclipsing the pain of the ill. His breathing ragged, his eyesight fading as the torment crested like a vengeful, cleansing wave.

    Then, in the pinpricks left of his vision, he saw Harry staggering upright, his eyes red - so _red_ \- with tears and terror, but nowhere near as vibrant as the glaring crimson of Severus’ blood soaking his clothes, clinging to his burnished copper skin. Anointing him. He _looks_ like a Martyr, like an Angel, wet with blood and tears, haloed by the pale, silvery moonlight that filters through the window behind him. Severus’ eyes had fluttered, transcendent and delirious with pain and ecstasy, and he fainted, his chest falling still just long enough for Harry to be convinced of his passing before the young man fled.

    Severus had come to some time later. The papery moonlight had given way to watery sunlight, dancing across the dust moats that had fluttered around the window. And Severus had been furious. His final rest completely ruined by Harry. Fucking. Potter. Beautiful Harry Potter with the tears of the righteous need to rescue. Scrawny Harry Potter who had been raised for the slaughter. Surprisingly clever Harry Potter who had quickly assembled the last few pieces of the puzzle when presented with them. Harry sodding Potter. Saviour of the Wizarding World.

    Rage had quickly given way to fear. He had rushed, as quickly as he could, to the school, as concealed as he could make himself in his weakened state. The devastation was nearly complete. The castle suffering ragged wounds as he, himself, had. Neat rows of bodies were laid across the front lawn. Some peaceful in repose, hit with the Killing Curse, and left intact, looking as though they may just be sleeping - others horribly mangled, blood sticky and blackened where it had escaped the chasms that had once been limbs. The sight churned Severus’ stomach and he had to look away. These were children, mostly. Just children. He breathed slowly through the yawning pit of despair and guilt that had opened in his stomach, bringing himself back into his weakened body. The sound of wailing reached his ears when his hearing returned. Slowly his vision had returned to him, though he kept his eyes turned toward the castle - ragged though it may be, it could not bleed, nor die. His fingers and toes began to tingle just in time for him to dodge a bustling passer-by. He had followed in their footsteps, though he doubted very much that anyone was possessed of enough presence of mind to notice a set of footsteps out of time or place with anyone else. His senses came alight, though his emotions were dulled. He caught, from the corner of his eye, the corpse of Remus Lupin, and felt nothing in response to the sight. Nor did anything flare in his breast when he saw Poppy Pomfrey, battle-worn and bleeding, forcibly administering a Calming Draught to a student in the midst of a psychotic break. His mind let sound pass over it, and through it, and then, when he had settled into a tiny alcove with a lovely view of the enchanted ceiling, he heard what he must have been listening for. Harry Potter was alive - again.

    Fury consumed his body, met in equal measure by such bone-aching relief that he collapsed against the wall, sliding down until he was curled at the foot of the statue housed within his hiding spot.

    Martyr’s tears.

    Severus had laid there, on the cold stone floor, invisible to everyone in their grief, where he had wept until he had succumbed to exhaustion.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus begins to confront himself regarding his obsessive behaviour. Resolution remains distant as he begins to journal the day.

    Severus’ staggered back into the present, halting and heaving like a drunken pixie. His eyes readjusted to the creamy, cozy candlelight of the bathroom just in time to witness Potter perform a relatively simple hand movement that resulted in a very chill wind sweeping Myrtle away so that he could finally exit the bath in peace. He tried desperately to control his breathing, the sound of the swirling water in the tub helping to cover his shaking breaths. The young man remained ignorant to Snape’s presence, climbing slowly from the tub. A towel rushed to encase Harry, cuddling his gleaming skin, pulling away drips and rivulets as he sighed tiredly. He rubbed at his face, pinching the bridge of his nose as though trying to stave off a headache. His glimmering green eyes rolled heavenward as he blew a heavy breath from his rounded, candied lips.

    “Give them a show,” he mumbled before collecting his clothing, sliding it on slowly. “It’ll be fine,” He assured himself, “I can do this…” he seemed unsure to Severus, quivering softly as though tears were threatening to consume him.

    “I can,” he tied his hair back, “I will.” He turned, his body rewriting itself as he straightened, slipping his glasses on before nodding once, resolutely, and exiting the room. The door closed with a snap, the catch clicking with a strange finality.

    Severus unfolded himself, squinting after the younger man. What had him so uncertain? Why had he slipped away, obviously sneaking. Severus rolled his shoulders, shaking out kinks that had set into his muscles with the terror of his flashback. He swept his hair back, bowed his head to the mermaid in the stained glass and stormed from the room, more at ease with slipping into and out of masks than Harry was.

    He half expected to collide with the still-infuriating man immediately through the door, caught in his shameful peeping. He was well pleased to be without such an obstacle. He needed to return to his rooms, catalogue the experience - Harry’s words, his discomfort, the rictus of pleasure that had seized his face when orgasm rampaged through him. Mostly, though, Severus had to contemplate his obsession with the younger man. He had followed news of Harry closely over the years away from each other, reading into interviews given, extracting information that the silly young thing likely hadn’t meant to disseminate. He had a journal that had filled over the course of time with news clippings - everything from birth announcements to vicious gossip about Harry’s escapades as an Auror -  but this.

    This.

    Spying on the child of his only friend, watching what was a deeply private moment, without the consent or knowledge of the object of his fixation. This was debauchery on another level entirely. He breathed deeply, tuning his vision into the darkened passages that loomed over him, took pleasure in the billowing of his robes, focussing his attention to his bodily sensations, clearing his mind of the matter while he strode through the hallways, purposeful in his movements. It was soothing to his overheated mind, taking him away from the shame, and confusion.

    Severus was both relieved and irritated that he hadn’t happened upon Harry on the way to his chambers. Undoubtedly, the little miscreant was sequestered somewhere within the castle walls, up to some skullduggery or another. He caressed the wards of his room, the silky magic sliding over him in warm greeting, promising reprieve from the outside world. Sitting at his desk he summoned a glass of water, pulled out his journal, and began to write.

 

    Saturday, January 1, 2005

    Today, I have crossed an indelible line. I have committed the shameful act of voyeurism against the child of my only, and dearest friend. Today, I have grown into the monster that others have always believed me to be. Today, I spied on a man - a child I once taught - while he brought himself relief. I have been sick with this longing for many a year, now. While he was young I tormented him, keeping him beneath a baleful and protecting eye. When he approached his adulthood, I traveled alongside him, imperceptible to his untrained senses, bringing him to discoveries, saving him what pain I could. Now that he is an adult, I have watched him with lust in my heart, with greed in my soul. Today, I watched as Harry James Potter masturbated in the Prefect’s bathroom. I told myself it was for chaste purposes. But I am not one to lie to myself, nor to take my lies to heart. I knew as I saw him, sweat slicked and shining, that my desire to know of him, about him, has changed.

    No longer do I wish only to see him safe, daft and reckless as he is, I wish to see him undone in pleasure. I wish to see his eye glitter with true, bone-deep happiness. I wish for him to find those things with me. In me. For me.

    As the night began his voice rang across the hall, deeper now than I remember it. “Unity,” he cried, his eyes burning with passion. “Forgiveness,” he had sighed, his gaze lingering upon mine but for a moment. Forgive me he must have, as he christened a child in my name. Such wrath consumed me. What presumption, to give my name without permission. A little boy with hair like his father’s, and eyes like his mother’s. His speech carried on, speaking of loss and hope, his hands graceful through the air as he motioned toward the gates, to the sepulcher on the rolling green glen.

    He came into the crowd, smiling, glad-handing, laughing like church bells. His manner of dress was so lewd. His shirt close enough to his chest that his nipples pointed baldly through the thin material, dark and raw like unpolished gems. His denims were tighter still, curving along his rump like water over flesh. I watched with unbridled envy as men and women alike ran their undeserving hands along his forearms, his flesh glittering with fine hairs bleached golden by the sun. I was overcome with the desire to speak to him. To hear his voice given solely to me. Folly, it seemed.

    Always, he turned away from me, a flimsy excuse, a mumbled apology. Rude and dismissive. A blush graced his face as the night wore on, as people drifted away, taking with them his excuse for slipping away from me. His cheeks darkened when last I approached him, stuttering in a manner entirely unbecoming an Auror, a manner entirely too enticing for speaking with a former professor. Away he scampered, making himself nearly invisible to those around him. A clever trick, certainly. But not so clever as to go unnoticed by my trained eyes. Attempt to escape though he did, I followed him. Through flattery and deceit, I gained access to the bathroom. He was nude already, his skin reflecting candlelight like sun off of a babbling brook. His scent was too weak to reach me, far as I was, but the need to taste his skin nearly undid me. He stood in the basin, brazen and golden, work himself with haste that bordered on fury. And, oh, what beauty. His lips clamped silent, his brow drawn taught, his back bowed with the power of his release. I wanted to penetrate his mind - to see what brought him to the precipice and threw him into the churning waves of ecstacy.

    When he broke the surface of his orgasm, he glanced about. Perhaps furtive. I feared that I had been caught, and rushed to construct a feasible excuse, anything to cover that I had helped myself to his body without his consent. But his eyes slid past me, and he turned about his business. Bathing and entertaining are apparently not an uncommon co-occurrence in his life, as he took to speaking with the ghosts with an ease that he had not been able to call to bear with me while he was clothed. The minx. The little trollop. But, ah, he was shy of Myrtle, the simpering, whimpering girl ghost. His eyes welled with tears, and I was ripped from the day. Transported to last I saw his tears, my body wracked with agony as I remembered the torture of his cure. I was away for an eternity in the blink of an eye.

    I came to myself in time to see him exact the power that I so resented him not harnessing as a child. A wave of his hand, and Myrtle was gone. A thought through his mind and he was swaddled by a towel that seemed nearly sentient. Such precise control, such beautiful power.

    Though he seemed troubled. His mouth a moue of frustration, brow clenched as he spoke to himself, now. Assured himself. Built himself up before returning to his adoring audience.

    I fear I may lose myself to this sickness, this obsession.

    I must know what he’s up to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written a journal from a fictional character's perspective before, but I felt I needed to convey that Severus knows he's unwell, and that he wrestles with it.  
> I don't think he'll resolve it, buuut... that's another issue.
> 
> Cheers, my dears.

**Author's Note:**

> This popped out of nowhere last night. I generally need months or years to cobble things together, but this manifested out of a bout of insomnia.  
> There's more lurking in my brain - in theory - but I'm marking this as complete for the time being, so there won't be much hope kept burning in your hearts. Partially because I have a bunch of other WIPs that are making me feel like a terrible person, and partially because lol, grad school.
> 
> Health, wealth and happiness, y'all.


End file.
